Massie Block: Demon Hairdresser of Birch Street
by NeedsmoarDelta
Summary: A parody of Sweeney Todd in which Massie's daughter is a wannabe emo falling in love at first sight and Massie is consumed with getting her revenge on Claire, who stole her boyfriend. I'm not sure about the rating, as it will get kind of gory.
1. There's no place like Westchester

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to __Yellowfur__ because she's awesome like that. __And our conversation about Claire giving the soccer boys "the closest shave they ever had" inspired this. __A bit of fun that is my first attempt at a parody. Yeah, I know that song lyrics are against the TOS, but whatever. It wouldn't be a parody without them. _

The filth of the Hudson River can be smelled from miles away; I wrinkle my nose and inhale the leftover scent of Chanel no. 19 still lingering on my wrist. In the fog, Westchester looks dark and damp, nastier than I remember. Not that Westchester was a happy place for me. I shake my head, trying to block out the memories.

"Massie?" Josh tugs at my sleeve.

I grip the railing of the super chic yacht I'd bought with my trust fund as soon as I'd been released. After all, if I was coming back to Westchester, I had to do in style. The boat shudders slightly as it pulls into dock; Josh hops off and ties it with thick, coarse rope.

"Massie? We're here."

I take tiny, careful, steps; all the better to show off my brand new Christian Louboutin stilettos. As soon as I hit the sidewalk, however, I run as fast as my manicured feet can take me, towards the old salon on Birch Street. Even though I hadn't seen the place in fifteen years, I knew my boyfriend and daughter, Cassandra, would be safe inside, frozen as if they were acting out a tableau of domesticated life.

The streets are completely deserted, a rat scampers out from a sewer and nibbles at my shoe.

"Oh no you didn't, beyotch!" I kick at it and the vermin scuttles away quickly.

Moving through the maze of streets, I sing, my voice dark and bitter, "_There is a hole in the world like a great black pit, and the vermin in the world inhabit it and its morals aren't worth what a pin can spit and it goes by the name of Westchester._"

I take a deep breath, "Wasn't that the run on sentence from hell?" No one answers, not that I expected them to or anything. I continue, "_At the top of the hole sit a privileged few, making mock of the vermin in the lower zoo, turning beauty to filth and greed. I too have sailed the world and seen its wonders, for the cruelty of man is just as wondrous as Peru but there's no place like Westchester! There was a hairdresser and her boyfriend and he was hot………__"_

_----_

_Massie looked at Derek, adoration visible in her eyes as he carried mounds of shopping bags and boxes. _

_"A foolish hairdresser and her boyfriend….."_

_Massie lifted Cassandra from her designer baby carriage; the dark haired baby giggled. _

_"He was the reason for her life and he was hot, and he was virtuous…And she was naïve."_

_Massie batted her eyelash at Derek; he smiled back weakly. "I love you," she whispered. "Yeah," he grunted, struggling to lift Massie's recent purchases. _

_"There was another girl who saw that he was hot; a biased vulture of the law, who, with a gesture of her claw removed the hairdresser from her plate!"_

_Claire watched Derek, her cerulean eyes turning navy with suppressed anger and jealousy. A snap of her fingers and Massie was dragged away by two overfed cops. Massie scratched at their arms vainly. _

_"Get off of me! Don't you dare touch me like __that!__"_

_Claire kissed Derek on the cheek, he managed to catch Cassandra, who had been tossed to him by a desperate Massie. _

_"And there was nothing to do but wait! And so he'd fall! So soft! So young! So lost and oh so hot!"_

_-----_

_"There's a hole in the world like a great black pit and it's filled with people filled with shit! And the vermin of the world inhabit it!"_ I stare at the building that used to be my studio. Now, a peeling sign hung from the doorway, reading 'Mr. Fisher's Meat Pies'.

I march toward the shop, pure, unadulterated fury making my face bright red, my fists clenched; my nails digging into her palms. I wince, but continue towards my destination. I pull open the door; an annoying bell announces my presence.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

* * *

_Yeah, I know it's dumb. What's a bored teenager stuck in suburbia supposed to do? As always, con-crit is appreciated. _


	2. The Worst Pies in Westchester

_A/N: I know I switched to third person here, but it just didn't work written in the first person.__ It was driving me insane. Anyway, I cut down 'The Worst Pies in London' and I'm using the lyrics from the stage show, so 'Poor Thing' is longer. As always, crit is appreciated. _

_------_

Every surface in the shop was covered in flour. It looked like a hurricane had ripped through the place, leaving chaos in its wake. Pots and pans littered every possible surface; a crusty green solution covered a sink that looked like it hadn't been used in years. Random black hairs, mouse droppings and pieces of dried up dough created a thick coating over what had once been a gleaming wood floor. The proprietor, on the other hand, was pretty easy on the eyes, even splattered with unidentifiable substances.

"A customer," Massie heard him mutter under his breath.

Well, ahb-viously- what the hell did he think she was, the freaking ghost of Christmas past?

He grabbed her by the shoulders, steering her towards a seat near the window, "_Wait! What's your hurry? You gave me such a fright I thought you was a ghost!"_

"Hey! Get your nasty hands awff me, this is a Daryl K, you know. Not so bright, are you?"

He apparently has no idea what a Daryl K was, since he continued, "_Half a minute, can't ya sit? Sit ya down! Sit!"_

"You have one minute." Massie folded her arms over her chest; a gesture that was part defiance, part protection from the overall griminess of the place.

_"All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks."_

She gazed at her surroundings with the critical eye of a girl accustomed to impeccable finery, "Why am I not surprised?"

"_Did you come here for a pie, miss? Do forgive me if my head's a little vague."_

He rushed around the disorganized kitchen, grabbing a plate from a heap that looked ready to topple and threw a pie on it, blowing the dust off the top.

"Here." He handed Massie the plate, she poked at the pie, hesitant. A cockroach scuttled over his workspace; its feet dragged in the dough of a freshly rolled out pie.

_"Ugh! What was that?" _Cam used his rolling pin to brush off the offending creature, "_But you'd think we had the plague__ from the way people keep avoiding. No you don't!"_

The bug had crawled out from its hiding place, with one smooth motion; Cam killed it with the edge of his pin.

_"Right you are, miss, would you like a drop of ale?"_

Massie nodded; judging by the smell that wafted out of the pie, she was going to need alcohol to get through it without puking.

"_Mind you I can hardly blame them; these are probably the worst pies in Westchester. I know why nobody cares to take them! I should know; I make them. __But good?__ No….."_

Massie banged the pie against the edge of the plate; she heard a 'thwack!' as the stale bread met china.

_"The worst pies in Westchester! Even that's polite, the worst pies in Westchester. If you doubt it, take a bite."_

Massie swallowed hard, bringing the….thing to her well glossed lips. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and took a bite. Bitter. That was the first "flavor" that hit Massie's tongue, quickly followed by a distinctly moldy taste. The meat felt like it was moving of its own accord, as if it was infested with maggots. Massie spat the piece into her hand, and discreetly dropped it under the table. She shuddered. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. He sure as hell wasn't exaggerating.

"_Is that just disgusting?__ You have to concede it; it's nothing but crusting."_

"You got that right," Massie muttered.

_"Here, drink this. You'll need it."_

Cam passed her mug filled with a strong-smelling liquid, Massie sipped it gratefully.

"_And no wonder, with the price of meat, what it is when you get it." _Cam stirred a bowl on the counter, filled with what looked like vomit. The smell of rotting meat grew stronger; Massie once again buried her nose in her wrist.

_"No denying times is hard, miss. __Even harder than the worst pies in Westchester!"_ He grabbed his trusty rolling pin, beating the dough violently, alternating between rolling out and beating the shit out of the poor thing.

_"It looks like its molting and tastes like….well…pity a man alone and with the worst pies in Westchester! Ah, miss. Times is hard."_ He nodded, "_Time is hard."_

In spite of herself, Massie felt sorry for him and in her own weird way, she wanted to help.

"Isn't there a room here, above the shop? Why not rent it out?"

"Up there? No one will go near it. It's haunted." Cam lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Haunted?" Massie placed her on her hands, "That is such bullshit."

"Something happened there. Something not-very nice." Cam ran his fingers against the smooth wood of his rolling pin, the repeated movement helped him block out the thoughts that came back to life; thoughts he had locked away for so many years.

"What? What's so scary that you wimp out whenever it's mentioned?"

"I'm not a wimp," Cam almost seemed to become a child again in the way he pouted, refusing to look Massie in the eye.

Massie wasn't going to give up that easily. Gossip points were on the line here! This would set a new record, surely.

"Cameron." Disapproval practically dripped from Massie's icy tone, she sounded like a cranky, sexually repressed schoolteacher.

"How'd you know my full name?"

Now it was Massie's turn to be nervous. A piece of shiny, dark hair curled around her shaking index finger, she watched it with a sense of detachment. She knew she was encouraging more split ends by playing with her hair, but she couldn't- or didn't want to -stop.

"N-Nothing. I mean nowhere. I mean…. It was a lucky guess, I suppose."

"Come here. We'll go to the parlor and chat, eh?" Massie's shoulders sagged in relief; she uttered a prayer of gratitude that Cam was stupid enough to change the subject.

"What you'd say?"

Massie shook her head, "Nothing."

Cam placed his rolling pin on the wooden counter, the surface almost black with dirt. He looked at his beloved pin with longing; Massie raised her eyebrows in part amusement, part disdain. _Freak._

Cam placed his arm over Massie's shoulders, Massie stiffened- God knows how much dirt and other disgusting things lingered in those shirtsleeves of his?

"…..And I replaced the wallpaper here. More cheery, I think."

Massie's eyes were glazed over with boredom; she had no idea what the hell he was babbling about and she didn't care. The parlor was dark and smelled musty, as if it hadn't been used in years. Massie wouldn't have been surprised if all the furniture was encased in spider webs. There was a definite air of antiquity in the room; a grandfather clock stopped at exactly midnight rested forgotten in one corner and a bunch of fake flowers covered with dust sat on a scratched coffee table.

Cam poured whiskey into two tumblers, the amber liquid add a splash of color in the dark, depressing room. Massie took a sip, wincing a little as the bitter drink made its way down her throat.

An awkward silence descended, with Massie concentrating on her drink; Cam silent. Massie looked up; he quickly turned his gaze away from her. This was amusing for a little while, but the more minutes passed, the duller it became.

Finally, Massie's curiosity got the better of her. "So, are you going to tell me what happened, or what?"

Cam sighed and placed his drink on the table, "Well, it started with a hairdresser and her boyfriend……."

------

_"There was a hairstylist and her boyfriend and she was beautiful………"_

_A smiling Derek holds Massie's bronzed hand as they walk down the street; they only have eyes for each other. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, giving her a tender kiss. _

_"A proper artist with the scissors, but they transported her for life……And she was beautiful."_

_The policemen shove her in the back as she struggles to climb into his van, a disgruntled customer runs out her studio. _

_"You owe me a haircut, bitch!"_

_----_

_"Black, her name was. Maysie Black….."_

_"She had this boyfriend, ya see. __Handsome thing, immature little git."_

_Derek's knees were purple from the cold; she giggles. "You know, you really should wear pants in the wintertime." _

_Her dark hair sparkles even on this cloudy day; Derek wiggles his shorts clad butt in defiance and __touches__ her silky hair. She pushes him away, laughs at his idiotic antics. _

_"Had his chance for the moon on a string.__ Poor thing! __Poor thing!"_

_----_

_"There were these two, ya see…wanted him like mad."_

_Claire and Dylan watch Derek's antics; unlike Massie they did not laugh. They eye Massie and scowl-if looks could kill, she'd be dead within a millisecond. _

_"One of them a judge, one of them her beadle."_

_"Guilty!" Claire roars, the orphan looks up at her, his eyes huge and pleading. "Please, mum….."_

_"Everyday they'd nudge and they'd wheedle. Still he wouldn't budge from his girl……"_

_Derek ignores the girls' glances and obvious flirtations, couldn't they see that he was in love?_

_"Too bad!__ Poor thing! So they merely shipped them blighter off south, they did! __Leaving him with nothing but grief and a year old kid."_

_Cassandra wails; Derek holds her, bouncing her up and down slightly, but to no avail. She continues to sob, her tiny face scrunches up, and fat tears pour out of her amber eyes. Tiny fists slam against Derek's back, he lets grief overtake him, the two of them cry as one. _

_-----_

_"Ah, but there was worse to come.__ Poor thing! __Cassandra, that__ was the baby's name. __Pretty little Cassandra.__ Well, Beadle calls on him all poor light. Poor thing! __Poor thing!"_

_Dylan bats her eyelashes, Derek barely pays attention. He tucks Cassandra into her cradle; she falls asleep in an instant. Derek turns his focus to the preening redhead._

_"The judge, she tells him, is all contrite. She blames herself for his dreadful plight. He must come straight to her house tonight. Poor thing! __Poor thing!"_

_Dylan leads Derek to a carriage waiting outside. One final glance at the studio, and he is gone, the carriage disappearing into the hazy night. _

_"Of course, when he goes there, they're having this ball all in masks. There' no one she knows there. Poor thing! __Poor thing!"_

_Derek shuffles his feet, nervous. This is was way awkward. Who were all these random people?_

_"He wanders, tormented, and drinks. __Poor thing!"_

_Derek steals a shot glass off of a tray carried by a passing waiter. __Jell-o shots.__ Nice. He helps himself to a second, to a third………_

_"The judge has repented, he thinks. Poor thing! 'Oh where is Judge Lyons?' he asks. She was there, alright. Only not so contrite! "_

_Claire runs her hands over Derek's thin T-shirt. "C'mere, sexy," she says, pushing him down on an armchair in the corner. _

_"He wasn't __no__ match for such craft, ya see. And everyone thought it so droll. They figured he had to daft, ya see. So all of them stood there and laughed, ya see! Pour soul! __Poor thing!"_

_Claire straddles him, Derek grins in his inebriated state. She licks him on the cheek and leans in……_

-----

"Would no one have mercy on him?" Massie trembled with suppressed anger.

"So it is you!" Cam gazed at her, adoration in his eyes, "Maysie Black," he whispered.

"NO!" Massie grabbed him by the collar of his nasty shirt, "not anymore. It's Massie Block now."


End file.
